I never realized that a building could make you physically ill until now
Every time I go near the hospital where you spent your short little life
My heart begins to beat faster and feel heavier
When I have to actually go in the building I am a complete wreck
I sob uncontrollably at every corner that I turn
For every nook and cranny of that place is filled with a bittersweet memory
Those walls were my world and yours for almost five months
You died in my arms in a little room on the fourth floor
Yes I miss you every day and every moment no matter where I am
But when I go there I feel your presence even more—that is where you lived
We never got to take you home so that hospital is your home—but you are not there anymore
I almost expect to get off the elevator and see you in your tiny little bed
That building is like a time machine and my heart is like a ticking bomb
And when I enter that place it explodes with emotions and memories of you.